“I ain’t no liar,” protested the pirate: “I ain’t. An’ its true, every word.”
“Hum,” said the farmer; “We’ll see.”
“You ain’t goin’ to give me up?” asked Tom, anxiously. “I say, mister, don’t give a cove up.”
“We’ll see; we’ll see.”
“Don’t!” pleaded Tom; “please don’t. Look, I won’t never shake any more fowls, I won’t. Only I don’t want to ’ave to go back to that Smith up there above Lismore, an’ get knocked about.”
The farmer’s wife was regarding the culprit with pity.
“Are you hungry now?” she asked.
Tom rubbed his stomach.
“I’m nearly dead,” he murmured woefully; “I’m empty as a ’oller log.”
“Let him come inside, Jacob,” pleaded the wife. “Let me give him a feed first before you do anything with him.”